


To Be Thankful

by OneBigWaywardFamily



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon verse, Destiel - Freeform, Destiel Fluff, Gen, Team Free Will, Thanksgiving, Thanksgiving Fic, bunker family, bunker!family, canon!verse, feel good fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 01:02:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8645143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneBigWaywardFamily/pseuds/OneBigWaywardFamily
Summary: When Dean woke up on Thanksgiving, nothing was different. The air wasn’t lighter with whatever cheeriness bullshit Hallmark tries to pedal, his headache wasn’t any better, and he was still wearing yesterday’s blood-crusted hunting shirt. He sat up with a groan, raking his fingers through his hair, and blinked back the rest of his uneasy sleep....A flash of hazy memory snapped through him, and he saw his four-year-old self looking up at some faceless preschool teacher surrounded by tiny hand-print turkeys.“And what are you thankful for, Dean?” she crooned.He chuckled mirthlessly, and his fingers itched for a beer bottle. I’m thankful I didn’t get my brother killed. I’m thankful we wiped out that nest of vamps. I’m thankful I’m alive. Kinda.He didn’t bother pulling on any pants before padding into the kitchen. Happy Thanksgiving to him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this turned out totally different than I anticipated. And it’s more of a “moral-of-the-story” than a plot thing. I hope you guys like it- Happy Thanksgiving!!

When Dean woke up on Thanksgiving, nothing was different. The air wasn’t lighter with whatever cheeriness bullshit Hallmark tries to pedal, his headache wasn’t any better, and he was still wearing yesterday’s blood-crusted hunting shirt. He sat up with a groan, raking his fingers through his hair, and blinked back the rest of his uneasy sleep.

He couldn’t remember any nightmares, but he felt them, creeping around in the shadows  of his thoughts. Last night’s hunt had been close- way too close. Dean’d been distracted and stupid, and because of it, Sam had paid the price with a dislocated shoulder and deep vampire hickey. The guilt from it had curdled overnight, and it now sat heavy and sour in his gut like a milk gone bad.

A flash of hazy memory snapped through him, and he saw his four-year-old self looking up at some faceless preschool teacher surrounded by tiny hand-print turkeys.

_“And what are you thankful for, Dean?” she crooned._

He chuckled mirthlessly, and his fingers itched for a beer bottle. _I’m thankful I didn’t get my brother killed. I’m thankful we wiped out that nest of vamps. I’m thankful I’m alive. Kinda._

He didn’t bother pulling on any pants before padding into the kitchen. Happy Thanksgiving to him.

No one was awake yet, and the kitchen was empty. Empty, and surprisingly clean. The ridiculous fruit bowl on the counter, the sink cleared. Sam had even managed to stack the pots right for once. Dean cracked open the fridge and found it too was empty, almost- a half pack of beers, crumbs in a pie tin, a jug of milk, a box and a half of chinese take out. His stomach gave a hungry lurch, but he forced it down, and by the time Cas had wandered into the kitchen he was still standing there, hand on the fridge door, debating to himself the merits of a 7am Thanksgiving supply run.

“Good morning, Dean,” Cas mumbled sleepily. He hadn’t bothered with clothes either, and the only thing he managed to throw on besides nameless black boxers was a bunker robe. He sat heavily at the table and stifled a yawn into the back of his hand. “Did you sleep well?”

Dean was pulling at his hair again, and he replied without turning. He needed a robe himself before he saw Cas half-dressed with sleep-mussed hair. “Like a baby.”

Cas smiled around another yawn. “Good, I’m glad.”

A stretch of uncomfortable silence. Dean heard Cas shift in his chair. “Is Sam awake?”

Another sting of guilt, a flash of sharp teeth. “Dunno,” Dean answered, and he braced himself before turning around, taking a beer before shutting the fridge. “Probably sleeping off last night. That vamp got him pretty good.”

He looked, with a shock, at Cas. He was painfully beautiful, as per usual- the big eyes even bluer with sleep, the messy dark hair, the broad, tan shoulders and bare chest- but it was different today. His face a little softer, his smile a little brighter, like whatever grace he had left was rising to the surface and glowing from beneath his skin. The angel looked happy.

Cas shifted beneath Dean’s gaze, and Dean realized he’d been staring. Openly. “Is something wrong?” Cas asked awkwardly, and he rubbed his nose self-consciously. “Is there something on my face?”

Dean coughed a laugh and fiddled with the beer cap, dropping his gaze. _Idiot_. “No, no, it’s just uh-” The beer opened with a hiss, but he didn’t drink it. “You… you just look happy today, man.”

Now Cas laughed, and he sat back in his seat, robe falling open that much more. “As opposed to?” he asked, and his eyes grew a little brighter, a little bluer, the grace rising up a little more beneath crinkles of his smile. “What do you two call it? My constant look of angelic constipation?”

Dean’s cheeks burned and he opened his mouth the say something, but Sam interrupted and stumbled in, long arms holding a dozen grocery bags, hair wet with rain, a bright, dimpled smile spread across his face. “Mornin’ guys.”

Dean automatically found the bandage beneath his brother’s hair, too-white against his neck, and his stomach twisted. Sam’s voice, thick with pain, echoed in his brain, and his fingers tightened on the neck of the beer, gaze dropping away from his brother. “Hey Sammy.”

“Hello, Sam,” Cas smiled, rising to help Sam with the bags. Sam mumbled thanks, face just barely twisted in pain, and Dean’s guilt burned deeper as Sam’s free hand flew to his injured shoulder. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

“You too,” Sam replied, setting the things down on the counter. Dean caught sight of canned cranberry sauce, a bag of frozen vegetables, a brown box of potato pearls. Suddenly the thought of food made Dean’s stomach sick and cold, and he took a long pull of the beer, until it was yanked from his hand.” “Hey-!”

Sam held it in front of his nose, doing that annoying tilt-of-the-head, bitchy, it’s-too-early-for-beer look before setting the bottle down on the counter. “Don’t worry, Dean,” Sam said, and Dean worked hard to keep his eyes on the floor. His little brother turned around, rummaged through a few paper bags, and shoved a cherry pie into Dean’s arms. “I didn’t forget.”

Dean set it down and picked up his beer, facing away from the groceries, from Cas, from his brother. He took a few steps towards the door before asking, “So what’s all this for?”

“What’s what for?”

Dean took another swig of beer, nerves beginning to thrum with irritation. The crinkling of the bags, the chatter, the smell of the food- Dean could feel his headache returning, and he felt something ballooning in his chest, felt himself start to itch. “Don’t play dumb. All this food- you planning a bake sale?”

Sam scoffed. “Obviously I’m not the dumb one here. Ever heard of a Thanksgiving dinner?”

“It’s traditional in the United States, even though it wasn’t made official till 1863,” Cas added helpfully, taking a bag of asparagus and forcing it into the refrigerator drawer. “It’s a remembrance of the celebratory feast between Native Americans and the European immigrants-”

“Yeah, I know what it is, Cas, thanks.” Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and turned back around, gesturing vaguely. “It’s just.. When did we…” He chuckled, but it was tight. His stomach was rolling. “We’re not exactly the apple pie family here. Why…”

Even the beer wasn’t sitting right with him, and suddenly he could feel the nightmares poking their hands and feet out from the shadows and into his thoughts- _being chased down an alley, tied to something, Sam screaming-_

Sam’s hand was on his shoulder, and the beer was taken from his grip once again. Sam’s dipped down into Dean’s field of vision, and the bandage glared at him from beneath his brother’s collar. Sam’s face was pinched in confusion and wary, like his brother was- “Are you drunk?”

“ _No_ ,” Dean huffed.

“Oh, so you’re just acting weird for fun. Gotcha’.”

Dean shook his brother’s hand off of him, retrieving his beer and holding it to his chest. He didn’t have the energy for this. “Not drunk. Not weird.” He turned back around and headed off to his room, waving a hand in the doorframe long enough for Sam and Cas to catch it. “Wake me up when the food’s ready.”

He pushed back into his room and peeled the dirty shirt off of himself, rubbing a hand over his face and back into his hair. The headache was back, alright, but he didn’t want to sleep. He didn’t want to risk any more reminders of last night- or any night. He emptied to rest of the beer in a few big gulps, dumped the bottle in the bin, and sent a half-assed prayer to Cas to bring the rest of them in. His only hope now was to get bald-face drunk before Sam asked the three of them to hold hands around the dinner table and sing Kumbaya. He was in bed, stripped to his boxers and tangled in his sheets, when Cas pushed through his door into his room.

“Beer?” Dean grumbled, but all the angel was holding was a glass of water and a fist full of Tylenol. The bed dipped beneath Cas’ weight, and Dean felt a warm hand slip beneath his head before he was helped into a sitting position.

Cas handed him the pills and the water, and Dean took them without argument. The needling headache had grown into stakes behind his eyes, like some kind of post-hunt hangover. He fought the urge to rest his head on Cas’ shoulder and settled for staring holes into his socks.

“Are you sure you’re not drunk?” Cas asked, and Dean snorted.

“If you think a beer is enough to make me drunk, then you don’t know me at all.”

“Then why did you lash out in the kitchen?”

Dean snapped his head around, meeting the soft blue eyes with an indignant look. “Lash out? That’s what you call it?”

Cas cocked his head, answering, “What would you call it?”

Cas’ big, blue eyes caught him off guard, even after eight years with the guy. Always so open, so soft. Truth be told, Dean didn’t know why he was acting like this, and he didn’t know why he was suddenly so opposed to Thanksgiving. He’d been dreaming about it for thirty odd years, about the stuffed turkey and the heaps of fluffy mashed potatoes and the gravy and the smiling family- Cas squinted, and Dean realized he was staring again.

“Tell me something Cas,” Dean mumbled, and Cas nodded. “Why do you think, after all these years, it’s suddenly time to celebrate? Why now?”

Cas shook his head, not breaking their gaze. His voice was slow and sincere. “I don’t know, Dean. Why do you think?”

“I don’t know. It’s no better year than the last, or the last, or the one before that.” The bubble that had been building in Dean’s chest was warning him now, filling up the space between his ribs and spilling into his throat till he was choking. If he kept talking, it would pop.

“I don’t know what we have to be thankful for. Honestly. I mean, of course I’m thankful for Sammy. For… for you. More than you two could ever know. We’ve been through so much shit it’s a miracle seven times over than any of us aren’t floating in the Empty right now. But shouldn’t Thanksgiving be for people that are thankful for more than their lives? For people that aren’t fighting goddamn vampires every day? For people with a big house and two and a half kids and a picket fence and lab? People that can go to sleep at night and know they’re gonna’ wake up the next day to a blue sky, to their friends and their family-” Dean sucked in a breath, clenching his jaw and squeezing his eyes shut.

He started again, slowly.

“Last night, during the hunt. Sam and I had split up to scope out the nest, you know- hiding places or whatever. I’d gotten impatient, told Sammy we couldn’t wait another day or some bullshit. I thought we could take a couple of new vamps, even at night. And then I started thinking about today. I started thinking about Bobby, and the Harvelles, Lisa and Ben, and Charlie, and Kevin… I started thinking of everything we lost, why I would ever need a goddamn day to be thankful, and I didn’t… I didn’t hear Sam call for help.”

Bile pushed up and around that bubble in Dean’s throat, and he tasted it on the back of his tongue. The guilt was acid, now, and suddenly the nightmares were clear as day, right in front of him. The vampire hunched over his brother. Sam, cold and pale, lying limp on the floor. The terrible adrenaline spike when Dean realized that maybe he was too late.

Cas leaned a little closer, and Dean opened his eyes. The nightmares slunk away, and silence settled over the room.

“You asked me why I was happier earlier,” Cas murmured. “Would you still like to know why?”

“You finally found your harp?”

Cas chuckled, and it was a warm sound that sunk into Dean’s skin. “No,” Cas answered, and Dean could feel his smile. There was a sound of crinkling paper, and Dean shot up, expecting to see Sam at the door. But it was just Cas, taking a crumpled, old piece of notebook paper from one of his pockets. He unfolded it, smoothed it against his bare knee, and handed it to Dean.

His smile was glowing again, his eyes almost too bright to meet. The paper was a list.

  1. _The Winchesters  
_
  2. _The bunker  
_
  3. _Hamburgers  
_
  4. _Guinea pigs_



Cas’ elegant cursive filled the whole front, and Dean was surprised to find it stretch across the back page as well. The simplest fondness began to spread through Dean’s chest like sunlight, and the tiniest “oh” escaped him.

“What is this?” Dean asked quietly. _Claire. Jody Mills. Emojis._

“Things I’m thankful for,” Cas answered simply. “I wrote it this morning.”

Dean was trying to find something in it to criticize, something to poke fun at- Jimmy Novak. September 18- but nothing came out.

Cas carefully rested his hand on Dean’s forearm, meeting his eyes once more with a shock of electricity.

“It’s not your fault Sam got hurt, Dean. And it’s not your fault for grieving what you’ve lost.” Cas’ eyes got cloudy, suddenly, and he fit a shaky smile to his face. “I’ve lost some things, too, with… Heaven. My brothers and sisters. The mistakes I’ve made haunt me, too.” He took a deep breath in, and Dean couldn’t take his eyes off of him, this angel before him with his soft hands and sweet voice.

“But it’s… good to dwell on the positive. I know it doesn’t seem like there’s much left, but…” Cas gestured around with his free hand, keeping his other on Dean. “There’s plenty to be thankful for.”

A sharp pang of bitterness suddenly fired through Dean, and he got the urge to shove Cas’ touch away, his kind words and sad speech. He of all people know how patronizing that had grown, the _sorry for your loss_ es and the _it’ll get better_ s. It wasn’t going to raise the dead, wasn’t going to change was could have happened last night-

Dean grimaced, ignoring the desire to crumple the fragile list into a ball and toss it into the trash with his empty beer. “Like what?” Dean whispered.

“Well… Your brother is alive, despite last night. Despite… everything. You have a magnificent home. Running water. Warm water. Pie. Cheeseburgers. Your body works very well, from what I can tell. A library. Music. Your car.” Cas smiled shyly. “You have me, always.”

Dean’s grip on the paper loosened in surprise, and the bitterness disappeared, a soft, unnamable feeling blooming fast in its place. Dean’s pulse picked up, and he was sure the angel could feel it. Still, he didn’t move. He couldn’t find it in himself to do anything that would remove Cas’ touch, that would endanger the warmth spreading through him. After a few quiet seconds, Cas added softly, “I will let you think of the rest. Keep my list, if you need it.” And he stood up to leave.

The angel was almost out the door, one leg still in the room, when- “Wait,” Dean blurted, and Cas turned around. Dean could still feel the place where Cas had touched him, could feel the fondness blossoming inside him starting to fade. “T-tylenol,” Dean tried. He sighed, fighting the anger that still threatened to rise. “I’m… thankful for that.”

Cas’ face split into a smile. “Good.” He sat back down on the bed, and something in Dean’s chest loosened, allowing for more warmth to spill from his chest and into his veins. “What else?”

Dean felt ridiculous for a second, but he pushed it  away. “The water pressure here rocks. That’s… good. And memory foam mattresses.” Dean bounced up and down with an embarrassed almost-smile, and Cas broke into a beautiful laugh that made Dean’s toes curl.

_I’m thankful for your laugh,_ he thought, and a hundred other things began to fill his mind.

“See?” Cas asked. “It’s not hard once you start, is it?”

Dean didn’t answer- just shrugged. He was busy memorizing everything about Castiel in that second so he could write it down on his list.

-

Dean ended up returning to the kitchen with a pair of sweatpants, a clear head, and his own list in mind. He started small, naturally, with the stuff he and Cas thought up. As the night went on, though, he found it easier to think of things. Sam, Dean, and Cas cooked for hours- green beans, rolls, potatoes with gravy, stuffing, casserole, pie, brownies, cupcakes- everything but the turkey (replaced with a small rotisserie chicken). By the end of the night they were all drunk off their asses- or at least as drunk as two hunters and an angel can get. They stayed up until early the next day- Sam told them about college, Cas told them about, well, everything they wanted to know, from bible gossip to ancient Egypt to which animals he had created. They played cards, watched Dr. Sexy, ate to bursting, and finally fell asleep in a mess of long legs and plaid shirts on Sam’s bed. Dean was tucked up against Cas’ chest, trying his best to match his breathing to the angel’s, with practically a mouthful of Sam’s hair, when he finally gave in .

“Happy Thanksgiving, Cas,” he mumbled. And he faded into sleep.


End file.
